When professional duty clashes with personal conviction in the world of campus sexual misconduct cases
She's lying. I know she's lying, but I can't quite put my finger on why she would tell such an elaborate lie.
Uncovering her untruths is not my role here. As her Title IX advisor, my role is to support her. I am a supportive measure serving her through the University—a trained professional brought in to ensure she has someone by her side through the investigative process and through the hearing. The university contracts me from time to time to execute this role, and I've been trained not only through the University's mandatory trainings for contractors but also through many years of experience serving as an advocate.
So, although it's pretty clear to me that she's lying, it's not my role to point this out to her.
Understanding Title IX
Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972 is a federal civil rights law that prohibits sex-based discrimination in education programs and activities that receive federal financial assistance. Originally enacted to ensure equal access to educational opportunities, Title IX has evolved to encompass the handling of sexual harassment and sexual violence on college campuses.
Under current Title IX regulations, universities must provide both complainants and respondents with advisors—individuals who can accompany them throughout the process, attend meetings and hearings, and in some cases, conduct cross-examinations. These advisors serve as crucial support systems in what can be emotionally charged and legally complex proceedings.
The process typically involves an initial report, an investigation phase where evidence is gathered and interviews conducted, and potentially a live hearing where both parties can present their cases. Universities must ensure due process rights while also supporting survivors of sexual misconduct—a delicate balance that shapes every aspect of how these cases unfold.
The Weight of Professional Neutrality
So I listen. I listen to her story riddled with gaping holes. I listen to her repeat her version of what happened like a tape recorder, as if she memorized what she was going to say and is cautious not to deviate, lest her deception be uncovered.
I do probe, however. I ask her the questions that the Title IX panel will undoubtedly ask, and I reflect back to her the areas that don't support her claims. All the while fueled by my burning curiosity: Why?
Not "why would she do this?"—I know I can't ask that because the answer she gives remains stalwart: because he did this act and he needs to pay. But questions relevant to her Title IX claim: Was she attracted to him? Could he have reasonably interpreted consent?
Of course, I avoid the questions that Title IX rightfully disallows as irrelevant—her sexual history. Yet I wonder: has she ever done anything like this before? Lied about an incident against a coworker? Anyone else? What were those circumstances? I don't ask because I am clear about my role here. I also warn her that no one else is allowed to probe into her sexual history as the case develops.
Yet there are times I stare blankly at her, wondering.
The Paradox of Advocacy
It's always easier when I can spot the lie on the other side of the table—for instance, when the respondent's statement or testimony is wrought with inconsistencies that I can highlight on cross-examination. I'm a shark trained on the blood in the water, eager to rip open any gash to fully expose the weaknesses in his story.
But on my own side of the table, my role is to support. And my clients bring me in for this—to remain emotionally neutral yet steadfast in my role. It's the discipline of threading that needle that draws me into this work.
This tension reveals one of the most challenging aspects of the Title IX process: the collision between advocacy and truth-seeking. As an advisor, I'm not a neutral fact-finder like an investigator or hearing panel member. I'm an advocate, tasked with ensuring my client's voice is heard and their rights are protected, regardless of my personal assessment of their credibility.
The Broader Questions
This case forces me to confront uncomfortable questions about the Title IX system itself. How do we balance the imperative to believe and support survivors with the equally important need to ensure fair proceedings for all parties? What happens when the adversarial nature of the process incentivizes narrative construction over truth-telling?
These aren't abstract policy questions—they play out in real time in conference rooms and hearing chambers across the country. They affect real people: students whose academic futures hang in the balance, employees whose careers could be derailed, and genuine survivors who deserve justice and support.
The complexity deepens when considering that even experienced advocates can be wrong about credibility. Memory is fallible, trauma affects recall in complicated ways, and the pressure of formal proceedings can make even truthful accounts seem rehearsed or inconsistent. Perhaps what I'm interpreting as deception is actually the natural result of stress, coaching, or simply the way this particular person processes and communicates her experience.
The Professional Imperative
Ultimately, my role as a Title IX advisor isn't to serve as judge and jury. It's to ensure that within an imperfect system, every person has competent representation and support. The university investigation and hearing process, with its multiple safeguards and trained decision-makers, exists precisely because individual advocates—no matter how experienced—shouldn't be making unilateral credibility determinations.
My discomfort with this case doesn't indicate a flaw in the Title IX system; it reveals the system working as designed. By separating advocacy from adjudication, the process aims to ensure that both support and fairness are preserved, even when they seem to be in tension.
As I prepare for the hearing, I'll continue to fulfill my role with professional integrity, knowing that others in the process will fulfill theirs. The investigators will examine evidence, the hearing panel will weigh credibility, and I will ensure my client's voice is heard clearly and her rights protected fully.
That's the job. That's the responsibility. And despite my personal doubts, it's a responsibility I take seriously—because the integrity of the entire process depends on each participant fulfilling their role with professionalism, regardless of personal reservations.
The system isn't perfect, but it's designed to be better than any individual's snap judgment—including mine.
The author is a trained Title IX advisor with extensive experience in campus sexual misconduct cases. Details have been changed to protect confidentiality.